


Defloration

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Series: Mythical [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_flashfic, M/M, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-02
Updated: 2006-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:32:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"It's not like it's a problem," Sheppard said firmly. "I mean, plenty of people are virgins into their...um...well, past their teens, at least. It's not affecting me."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defloration

**Author's Note:**

> People asked for a sequel to _Mythical_ (which is now known as _They Shoot Unicorns, Don't They?_ ), and really, I don't do sequels, but then this idea happened, and...well, apparently I do do sequels, occasionally. I started this not long after I posted _Mythical_ , but I think it's been pretty much entirely rewritten since then.
> 
> Many thanks to Casspeach for being supportive through the many rewrites, to Astolat, who looked over the original and offered constructive crit, and to anyone else who poked at it over the last year; I don't even remember who all I sent it to when I was in the throes of "oh my God, I hate this stupid thing."

Aiden made a beeline for the corridor leading to the mess hall as soon as they were through the stargate, but he hadn't quite made it around the first corner when he heard McKay call out "Lieutenant!" in a command voice.

He froze, his training taking over and making him execute a sharp about-face. "Yes, sir?" he said, trying to hide his surprise; he hadn't even known McKay could sound like that, like he actually knew how to give an order.

"I'm going to the mess for some coffee," McKay said, with a smile that was not at all reassuring. "Walk with me."

Aiden thought he knew what was coming, and desperately wished there was some way he could avoid the conversation, but short of pulling out his sidearm and actually shooting McKay, he couldn't think of anything. They walked in silence for a minute, and Aiden started to think that maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe McKay _wasn't_ going to ask all kinds of questions Aiden didn't want to answer about what had happened on the planet. With the unicorn.

No such luck, though, because in an empty corridor more than halfway to the mess, McKay looked sideways at him and said, "So how is it that you seem to know so much about the major's personal life?"

Aiden shook his head silently, trying to get across exactly how much he couldn't answer the question. It was more than his life was worth to give up the major.

McKay kept staring at him at him, though.

"Really, sir," Aiden finally said, "I can't say anything. Major Sheppard, he'd shoot me."

They walked on in silence for another minute before McKay said, casually, "Do you like the availability of hot water in your shower, Lieutenant?" Aiden stared at him, not quite believing the threat. "And," McKay continued, "I assume you prefer the ambient temperature of your quarters to be somewhat above absolute zero?"

The words brought Aiden up short, literally, in the middle of the corridor. Everyone knew what the scientists did to people they were pissed at. He'd had been really careful to stay on their collective good side, at least until now. Talk about a rock and a hard place. "Oh, man," he said. "That's totally not fair. That's hitting below the belt."

McKay smiled. "A word of advice: don't antagonize the people in charge of the environmental controls. Now, you were telling me about Major Sheppard's little personal difficulty?"

Aiden looked up and down the corridor, then grabbed McKay's arm and pulled him roughly through a doorway, into what turned out to be a closet. It was dim and crowded with stored equipment, but at least it was a little more private.

"So, Sheppard's apparent virginal state?" McKay prompted.

"He's gonna shoot me." Aiden sighed, but continued, "After the poker game last month, when he got wasted on Athosian beer? I was helping him back to his quarters when he...." He knew his voice had been getting quieter and quieter, and now he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. The memory was embarrassing enough, without having to talk about it, and with McKay, of all people.

McKay seemed content to let him continue in his own time, but the more he thought about it the more convinced he was that telling the major's secret was a very bad idea. Of course, _not_ telling McKay what he wanted to know was also a bad idea, so Aiden was pretty much damned if he did and damned if he didn't. Finally, McKay snapped, "He what, exactly, Lieutenant?"

The memory was as clear as day, no matter how desperately Aiden had tried to put it out of his mind: Sheppard, overly friendly and draped over his shoulder.... "He tried to kiss me," he blurted out.

McKay froze and Aiden could almost see him shifting mental gears. "That's, um, a little out of character for the major, yes," he said. "But what does that have to do with him being a virgin?"

"I told him I wasn't into guys." Aiden could feel his face heat up. If the actual event had been embarrassing, having to recount it for McKay was twice as bad. "I said I was surprised that _he_ was into guys; I never would've figured him for being gay."

"I thought you weren't supposed to ask—"

"He wasn't supposed to _tell_ , either!" Aiden interrupted. "I don't want to know that kind of stuff. He's my CO. I don't care whether he's doing it with Dr. Weir or with Dr. Zelenka; I just don't want to know!"

"Well," McKay said slowly, like Aiden was an idiot, "obviously he's not 'doing it' with either of them, since hello, virgin! And you still haven't gotten to that part of the story."

"Right, right. Anyway, he said that he wasn't sure _what_ he was into."

"He wasn't sure what he was into?" McKay repeated incredulously. "How could anyone possibly make it into their late thirties without becoming at least moderately sexually self-aware?"

He knew it sounded crazy, and at the time he'd almost thought Sheppard was messing with him, but Sheppard had looked so earnest that somehow Aiden couldn't help but believe him. "He touched something, in one of the labs. It reset his virginity."

"Reset? What the hell does that mean?" McKay frowned. "A man is not a circuit breaker; you can't just flip a switch and reset his virginity. It's not like there's even a hymen to repair."

Aiden shook his head. It didn't make much sense to him, either, but then nothing the Ancients did made much sense to him. "I don't know. He said he can remember up through kissing, but then it all kind of fades to black. He doesn't remember a single detail of the sex. _Any_ sex."

McKay's eyes got wide, and Aiden could suddenly see how bad this could get. "He knows it was stupid," he said, the words rushing out of him like maybe they could physically stop McKay from whatever he was thinking about doing, "and he's miserable so he's already been punished and he really doesn't need people finding out and making fun of him."

"Relax, Lieutenant," McKay waved one hand dismissively. "I have no intention of making fun of him."

~ * ~ * ~

"Thank you for helping with the move, Major," Rodney said, dropping the last box in a corner and collapsing onto his new couch.

"If you could've waited a day, Ford and Teyla could've helped, too," Sheppard answered, tugging the front of his tee-shirt up out of his jeans and mopping his face with it.

Rodney studiously ignored the expanse of pale, lightly furred belly and chest the maneuver exposed, levering himself off the couch and heading toward the cabinets that lined the far wall. "Beer?" he asked, pulling out two bottles of Athosian homebrew and offering one to Sheppard, who'd taken over his spot on the couch almost as soon as he'd vacated it, and was now lying down and exuding an aura of fatigue.

"Oh come now, Major, you can't be that exhausted. I'm still on my feet and conscious," Rodney pointed out.

Sheppard raised his eyebrow. "That's because I did most of the work. I must've hauled two boxes for every one you did." Taking a careful drink of the warm beer, Sheppard grimaced and then asked, "So when are you going to help me move?"

Rodney grinned. "That depends on when Ford and Teyla are available to help." He sank down to sit on the floor, his back propped up against the couch near Sheppard's hip. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, drinking their beers and, in Rodney's case anyway, watching the sun set through the stained-glass balcony doors.

When Rodney looked over at him again, Sheppard had thrown one arm over his face, covering his eyes, and was holding the beer bottle upright on his stomach with his other hand. It looked like he was ready to fall asleep right there, and Rodney felt something like tenderness twist in his chest at the sight.

"Major?" he said softly, taking the precariously balanced bottle away and putting it on the floor. "I could put on a movie, if you want."

"You've been talking to Ford, haven't you?" Sheppard's arm was still across his face, hiding his expression.

For an instant, Rodney thought about playing dumb. Well, not _dumb_ , obviously, because there was no way Sheppard would believe that, but playing _ignorant_. Instead, he said, "Maybe."

"It's not like it's a problem," Sheppard said firmly. "I mean, plenty of people are virgins into their...um...well, past their teens, at least. It's not affecting me."

Rodney paused. He wasn't exactly the world's most tactful person—it wasn't in his nature to be diplomatic, really—and so it was probably better if he continued his tradition of being forthright. "There's no reason for the situation to continue, you know. There are probably dozens of women—and men—in Atlantis who'd be willing to lend a helping hand. As it were."

"Ha ha."

Rodney seriously hoped Sheppard was mocking the bad joke, rather than the suggestion that he had numerous potential suitors. He'd never seemed particularly delusional, after all. Either way, he didn't seem to be taking the conversation seriously.

Reaching out, Rodney flattened his hand on Sheppard's stomach, his fingers spread wide. " _I'm_ interested," he said, as sincerely as he could. The idea of taking Sheppard to bed, of slowly stripping off his clothes and exploring every inch of his skin.... God, the thought was—

"I don't need a pity fuck," Sheppard said, sitting up suddenly and dislodging Rodney's hand, which ended up—just for a second, because honestly Rodney wasn't _trying_ to grope him—in Sheppard's lap. "Don't worry about it, McKay. I'm fine."

Rodney stared at him. "Pity fuck? Are you _insane_? Have you looked in a mirror lately?" He saw the minute change in Sheppard's expression and realized immediately that it had been the wrong thing to say. "Forget all that. Have you not been here for the last six months? Six months of flirting but pretending we're not?" An unpleasant thought occurred to him. "Don't tell me those memories were wiped, too."

"No." Sheppard shook his head, looking away. "I just— I wasn't sure if we were just flirting or if we were flirting with intent, you know?"

Which, when he thought about it, wasn't actually that surprising to Rodney. Personally, he always flirted with intent, but since "flirt" seemed to be Sheppard's default setting, Rodney had assumed he either didn't mean it most of the time, or had a sex life that would rival that of Casanova. Admittedly, Rodney had thought it was the latter, but—and he could be honest with himself—that was probably just the envy talking.

He put a hand on Sheppard's shoulder. "Let me repeat: I'm interested. Now, tomorrow, some indefinite point in the future. And it has nothing to do with pity." When Sheppard turned his head back, looked at him, Rodney couldn't read his expression at all. The moment stretched on just a little longer than he was comfortable with, leaving him feeling like maybe he'd made another misstep, though he couldn't quite figure out where.

Finally, more to break the silence than anything, he said, "So, you want to watch a movie or not?" Sheppard grinned at him, one of the real ones, and suddenly Rodney found it easier to breathe.

"Not," Sheppard said. "And, I think, now."

Maybe the Ancient artifact had done more damage to Sheppard than he'd realized, Rodney thought, because he wasn't making any sense. "Now?" Rodney asked.

"You said 'now, tomorrow, some indefinite point in the future,'" Sheppard said, his hand closing over Rodney's where it still rested on his shoulder. "I'm saying 'now.' Unless you've changed your mind—" and there was a hint of uncertainty there before he covered it, "or maybe you're just the world's biggest cocktease."

Rodney couldn't help laughing at that. "I'm actually remarkably easy. Now is good."

He stood—a little more slowly and awkwardly than he would've liked, but a day of carting boxes filled with all his worldly possessions had left him sore and a little stiff—and held his hand out. Somewhat to his surprise, Sheppard took it. When they were standing face to face, Rodney tilting his chin up just slightly so he could meet Sheppard's eyes, Sheppard said, "It's unnerving, you know?" Rodney nodded. He'd spent twenty years accumulating his own sexual experiences, and he'd really miss the memories if they suddenly disappeared.

Sheppard's fingers tightened on his. "I mean, I _know_ I lost my virginity to Rachel Schecter in tenth grade, in the front seat of my dad's Mustang the night we won the JV championship. Only I'm not really _sure_ , because what I remember is kissing her and then...nothing."

Rodney reached up with his free hand and cupped Sheppard's jaw, pulling him into a slow, gentle kiss. "If you want," he said, pulling back just far enough to speak, "I can do some research on the artifact, see if I can reverse its effects. No one else has to know." He felt Sheppard smile against his mouth.

Sheppard pulled away, tugging at his hand and dragging him toward the bedroom. "I have faith in you, Rodney. If anyone can do it, you can."

~ * ~ * ~

John backed up, pulling McKay with him. He felt weird; this whole thing felt weird, and possibly awkward, though that didn't stop his dick from responding, didn't stop the tingle of anticipation low in his gut. At the bump of the mattress against his calves, he sat down and reached for McKay's fly, tugging the buttons free with hands that were surprisingly steady, considering the way his heart was pounding. He brushed his fingertips across the bulge of McKay's erection, his own dick twitching when McKay's breath stuttered at the touch.

Then McKay pushed his hands away. "Here," he said, dropping to one knee and starting to untie John's boots, "let me—"

"For Pete's sake, McKay, I'm a virgin, not some fragile romance-novel heroine." This whole situation was bad enough without McKay treating him like he was going to shatter; he'd been doing okay—a minor case of nerves; nothing he couldn't handle—but maybe this was a mistake.

McKay rolled his eyes. "Fine." He shifted his attention to his own bootlaces, undoing them with a deft ease, and John felt a little ridiculous at having objected.

Tugging his shirt off over his head, he leaned back on his elbows and waited until McKay's boots hit the floor in the corner of the room before stretching his legs out a little and bumping an ankle against McKay's knee. "Hey, while you're down there, you mind getting mine, too?" McKay grumbled something about 'hot and cold running Sheppard,' but he started on John's boots and there was the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth, so John figured they were okay.

"You know, I never figured you for such a control freak in bed," McKay said, working at a stubborn bootlace, and his words brought John up short, because it meant McKay had been thinking about him, thinking about how he would fuck. That was kind of hot, but nerve-wracking, too.

He licked his lips. "How— What did you think I'd be like, then?"

The briefest hesitation told him McKay had realized what he'd said and was trying to figure out a way to backpedal without sounding like that's what he was doing. "I've seen you fly; I think that's a pretty good parallel to sex. You're cocky, but justifiably so. Good with your hands. Focused. Intense." McKay tugged off one boot and started working on the other. "You're in the pilot's seat, flyboy. Next time, though, it's my turn."

Next time.

John hadn't realized until he heard the words that he really hadn't expected there to be a next time. Despite McKay's reassurances to the contrary, he'd really been thinking of this as a one-time thing, nothing more than the solution to his pesky virginity problem. The idea that maybe it could be an ongoing thing...well, that was enough to get his dick the rest of the way to attention. "Next time?" he asked.

"I mean," McKay continued earnestly, looking up from what he was doing, "as long as you don't decide you're not actually interested in men, or not actually interested in _me_ specifically." McKay's face was pretty expressive in general, but his eyes.... Every single thought was laid bare in his eyes, if you knew the language; John was getting pretty fluent in Rodney McKay.

"I don't think that's going to happen," he said, taking one of McKay's hands and pressing it against his erection.

He could see McKay's throat work as he swallowed, and then McKay grinned a little and ducked his head, going back to removing John's other boot. "Good," he said. "That's good."

Flying and sex, huh? Well, that was a comparison that worked for him. This wasn't that different from flying blind, and he knew he could do that. He could do this, too; even if he was pretty sure he wasn't the sex god of McKay's imagination. The fact that McKay thought of him that way was equal parts flattering and intimidating, honestly.

McKay tossed John's other boot aside, but before he could stand, John reached out and ran a thumb over his lower lip, then pulled him in for a kiss. Kissing he remembered; kissing he could _do_. He explored McKay's mouth like a cartographer mapping a newly discovered country, noting McKay's reactions and filing the information away, some part of him determined to eventually live up to McKay's expectations. When they finally broke apart, McKay stood, his face flushed, and John leaned back again, taking a moment to let himself just look, his gaze raking up McKay's body until their eyes met and McKay looked away awkwardly at John's appreciative smile.

John unbuttoned his jeans, pushing the fly open and sliding a hand inside his boxers, fingers curling around his dick in a long, sliding stroke that was more frustrating than it was satisfying. "Did you know," he said, watching from beneath his lashes as McKay stripped quickly and efficiently, "that there's a disappointingly limited selection of porn on the server?" He'd watched—multiple times—the few movies he could get the server to cough up for him in an effort to jog his memory, or at least start filling in the blank spaces before he ended up in a situation where he had to look like he knew what he was doing.

"Not really." McKay moved to kneel on the bed, straddling John's thighs and pushing gently at his shoulder until he was lying flat on the bed. "You just don't have high enough access for the good stuff."

That was pretty much what John had suspected, actually. "As the ranking military officer of Atlantis," he complained between kisses, "I should have full access." He slid both hands down McKay's back, cupping the bare curve of his ass and pulling him closer, grinding up against him in a move that owed more to instinct than to thought.

"You think the civilians are willing to risk a jarhead stumbling across _Fly Boys_?" McKay asked breathlessly. " _Major Hardon_? _Fire in the Hole_?"

The litany of porn titles was surprisingly hot, especially the way McKay was reciting them from memory, each one sounding dirtier than the last. John arched his back, flipping them over on the bed and earning a startled noise from McKay. "You ever watch any of those, Rodney? Maybe fantasize about the boys in uniform?" he asked and his voice sounded strange in his ears, too low and rough, and McKay shuddered under him. "Maybe fantasize about me?"

There was a long silence, and then: "Maybe," McKay said, and John watched the flush—embarrassment or arousal, he wasn't sure which—creep up his neck and across his cheeks, and the idea of McKay watching gay porn, watching guys in uniform fucking each other while he jerked off to thoughts of John— Groaning, John thrust down against him, feeling McKay's dick hard and hot against his own, with nothing but a layer of cotton between them.

"Careful." McKay's eyes were wide and his body suddenly tense. "Delicate equipment here. If I end up castrated by your fly, you're the one who gets to explain to Carson and Elizabeth."

"Sorry." John rolled to the side, off of McKay—who lifted his head from the bed to watch John's movements—and scooted around until he was perpendicular to McKay's hip. "You want me to kiss it better?" McKay's dick twitched at his words, and John grinned, licking his lips and edging closer, watching McKay's expression out of the corner of his eye.

"Jesus. And you were accusing _me_ of being a cocktease?"

John leaned forward and tried an experimental lick, running his tongue up the shaft, and McKay's head fell back against the bed with a _thump_. John repeated the move, slower and with more concentration, focusing his attention first on the smooth, slick hardness and then on the salty, musky taste. When he reached the head, he circled it with his tongue a couple of times before sliding his mouth over it and sucking lightly. McKay's breath hitched and he made a half moan half whimper that had heat pooling in the pit of John's stomach. Yeah, John could definitely see the appeal of cocksucking. Scooting closer, he angled his head so he could take more of McKay's dick into his mouth, trying to watch McKay's expressions at the same time.

"Don't— Don't worry about trying any porn-star moves." McKay propped himself up on his elbows. "I'm going to come soon enough just watching you." John swallowed McKay's dick down as far as he could anyway, as much to see if he could do it as to make McKay react. "That's— Oh...yeah."

John sucked his way back up and pulled off. "You want to come on my face or in my mouth?"

"Fuck," McKay groaned, his hips thrusting up against where John was leaning, and he was coming, his dick pulsing in John's hand and whoa, had _John_ done that? He stroked the shaft lightly, his fingers slick with come, and McKay shuddered at the touch.

Curious—he'd considered tasting his own spunk while jerking off, but somehow that had just seemed a little weird—John licked across the trail of white on McKay's stomach; it was somewhere between bitter and astringent, and the aftertaste coated his tongue in a way that wasn't exactly pleasant but wasn't actually _bad_ , either. He didn't think swallowing would be a problem, next time.

McKay fell back against the bed. "Give me a second—" one hand waving weakly, "and I'll return the favor."

"I was thinking maybe...." John let the words trail off awkwardly. How the hell did you talk about this kind of thing? Was there some kind of etiquette for asking your best friend if you could fuck him?

"Maybe...?" McKay prompted.

If there was some gesture or code, John didn't know what it was, so he finally just said, "I'd like to fuck you."

McKay was suddenly totally still, and the knot was back in John's stomach. Then McKay took a deep breath and said, "You really don't do things halfway, do you? That— I'm not sure that's such a good idea, what with this being, technically, your first time. I mean, there are risks involved, the potential for serious injury, not to mention—"

"We'll go slow, and you can tell me what to do," John interrupted, trying to sound calm and rational—and not like he was begging, because he totally wasn't. "The first time's still going to be the first time, whether it's now or later." He sat back and waited, telling himself that if McKay said no again, he wouldn't push the issue.

It was the silence that was most unnerving, because even when McKay was thinking he was usually talking, even if only in half-sentences that didn't make sense to anyone but himself and maybe Zelenka. Finally, though, he looked over and met John's gaze, and John kept his face as impassive as he could.

"There's lube in the nightstand drawer," McKay said, voice steady if a little quieter than usual, then the corner of his mouth turned up. "You realize you're going to have to take off your pants, right?"

There wasn't anything John could do to stop the heat suffusing his cheeks, and McKay looked like he was trying not to laugh. "One crack about a 'blushing virgin' and I'm leaving," John threatened, but he was grinning too.

McKay rolled onto his side and raised an eyebrow at John. "Wouldn't dream of it," he said, then rolled the rest of the way over onto his stomach. "Pants and lube, preferably in that order."

But John couldn't move, because McKay was lying there, spread out in front of him—spread out _for_ him—and something about the broad expanse of his back, the firm curve of his ass where it met his thigh, made it hard for John to breathe. Somehow, this wasn't what John had expected, it wasn't exactly what he'd imagined when he was jerking off at night, trying to figure out what turned him on. After a moment, McKay shifted, pushed himself up on one arm and looked over his shoulder at John, who still hadn't moved.

"I want to be able to see your face," John said, without thinking.

McKay looked surprised. "Yes, well, trust me when I say that it'll be easier this way for both of us for your first time." John wasn't sure what showed on his face, but whatever McKay saw, his tone was softer when he said, "Next time."

"I thought next time it was your turn in the pilot's seat," John said, trying for light but not quite sure he managed it.

"Who says I can't order you to fuck me?"

John closed his eyes, the words making him sway a little where he was standing. He took a deep breath, then shoved his jeans and boxers down in a single motion, stepping out of them before looking back up.

McKay was on hands and knees, facing away from him, and John could see the tension across his back and shoulders. He knelt on the bed and crawled forward until he could curl his body over McKay's, shivering as his dick pressed up against the back of one firm thigh. "Relax," he said into McKay's ear. "If there's one thing I can do, it's follow orders."

"Ha!" McKay snorted but John could feel muscles easing against him and he grinned despite himself.

John leaned over and pulled open the drawer of the nightstand, fishing out the bottle of lube, and as he moved back down toward the foot of the bed, he dropped kisses onto McKay's spine. "Trust me."

"I do." Two small words, spoken so softly that John almost didn't catch them, but the implication took his breath away because he knew that McKay meant it, knew they wouldn't even be in this position if he didn't.

McKay stretched a little, folding his arms under his head and angling his hips up more. "You can, um, you can start with two fingers, I think," he said into the pillow, and John could almost _hear_ him blushing.

John poured a generous amount of lube out, then flipped the cap shut and set the bottle aside but within easy reach. McKay's skin felt hot under his fingers, and he made a soft noise when John touched him, pushing back so that John's fingertips slid into him without John moving at all, and John froze, not even breathing. Oh, God, they were really doing this; he was really going to let John fuck him.

"John?"

"Yeah, sorry." He took a deep breath. "Just— This is really intense."

Something that might have been a laugh, and then McKay said, "You think this is intense, wait until it's your dick instead of your fingers."

John had already been hard enough he ached, and McKay's words—and the images they painted for him—didn't help at all. He wanted to get to that point, wanted to be there already, but he also wanted to make it good for McKay. Slowly, he slid his fingers deeper, feeling McKay's body relax around him, letting him in. He pulled back, then pushed forward again, the slick, silky heat enveloping him and McKay's low, breathy moans making it hard for him to keep the pace slow, gentle. John turned his wrist, trying to find a better angle, and McKay shuddered, pushed back against him.

"Oh, God. Three fingers would be good," McKay said, his voice rough. "Or, you know, just. You could fuck me. Now. Already."

Closing his eyes, John swallowed thickly and wrapped his free hand tight around the base of his dick, trying to think about things that weren't likely to make him come immediately. He choked out, "Not helping, Rodney. Really, really not helping."

"Sorry. Uh. Carry on?"

John had to stifle the relieved laughter that wanted to bubble up and out, because some part of him had apparently been worried that this was going to change things between them, make them weird and awkward with each other, but the response was so perfectly McKay that John couldn't help but be reassured. After another deep breath he could let go of his dick, reach for the lube again.

Three fingers were a tight fit, even well-slicked and sliding in as slowly as John could manage; McKay sucked in a sharp breath and John froze, then reached out with his other hand to stroke McKay's hip. "You want me to stop?"

"Don't you dare," McKay ground out. "Just...slow, okay? It's been a while. Not that I haven't had opportunities; I have. It's just that there's the stupid need for discretion, what with all the marines—" John moved, sliding his fingers out and back in slowly, twisting his wrist at the end of the thrust, and was rewarded by a low moan, then McKay continued breathily, "Okay, yeah, you get an A-minus for manual dexterity and technique. Please, can we move on?"

"Only an A-minus?" John repeated the move, and this time he could see the effect in the way McKay arched his back just a little, pushed himself a little further onto John's fingers, and God it was hot to know that he could make McKay react, make him _want_ the way John wanted. And John really did want; he wanted to replace his fingers with his dick, wanted to feel the slick and the heat and the surrender as McKay's body opened up to let him inside. He'd had no idea that this was what it would be like, and he suddenly understood the idea of waiting until you found someone who mattered to do it with.

"I was trying to give you incentive to study and practice. Besides, there's always room for improvement." But McKay's voice betrayed him, shaky and broken; he was as close to losing it as John was.

"Only you, Rodney, could turn fucking into an academic exercise," John said, not sounding any more together than McKay had and not really caring how obvious it was. "Now?"

"No, tomorrow," McKay snapped. "Yes, now. God, as soon as humanly possible."

John stroked himself, slick fingers gliding the length of his shaft and leaving him shivering at the flood of sensations. More lube, because McKay was _tight_ , and one pained gasp was more than enough for this evening; John had heard the sound of McKay suffering too many times to want to be the cause of it himself. He moved closer, steadying against McKay's hip with his left hand and positioning the head of his dick with his right.

"Anything I should know?" he asked, but what he really wanted was some way that McKay could do this, could be completely in charge of the situation so that it went off without a hitch. So far John had simply been occasionally overwhelmed, but when it came down to it, he hated not knowing exactly what he was doing.

"You sound like you're asking if I have any last words. This is sex, not a death sentence." A pause, and then McKay continued, "Just, you know, stop if I tell you to."

As if John wouldn't do that without specific instructions. Obviously he wasn't the only one who was nervous. He braced himself—mentally as much as physically—and thrust forward, pressing against McKay and feeling the resistance, the simultaneous push back and give as the head of his dick sank into McKay's heat.

Oh, God, McKay was tight, even tighter than he'd expected, and John tried to listen to his breathing over the noise of his own heart pounding, the harsh sound of his own breath ragged in his chest. "More?"

McKay's huffed laugh vibrated through John, too, and then he said, "Since the overall goal of penetration is to get the entirety of the penis inside the chosen orifice, I'd say yes, more."

John didn't even bother to answer, though he had an overwhelming urge to smack McKay's ass, which seemed far too porn-flick to actually do. Instead, he wrapped his fingers around McKay's hips and thrust forward, watching as his dick slid slowly home, feeling the not-quite-smooth drag of skin on skin. _This is it,_ he thought. _I'm fucking Rodney McKay. He came in my hand and my dick is up his ass._ Even unspoken, the idea was almost unbearably hot; John had to close his eyes against the sight of where their bodies were joined.

"Okay, this is the part where you move." McKay's voice was still rough, reminding John that he probably wasn't in any better shape than John was. "Preferably a repetitive motion like the one often described in bad porn as 'pistoning.'"

Slowly, John pulled back, eyes still closed, letting himself be guided by the sensations. As he pressed forward again, he said, "Is this the part where I say, 'Take it, baby, take it all'?"

McKay rocked back against him. "Oh, yeah, give it to me. Plow me with your huge cock."

John had to stop moving for a second while they both dissolved into laughter, and it felt odd but nice. He hadn't been thinking of sex and humor as things that could go together, at least not in any way that was good, but all of the nervous tension he'd been feeling earlier was gone, replaced with a tingling warmth that was about more than just his dick.

"Thank you," he said, leaning over to press a kiss to McKay's back, then trying a slow roll of his hips that drove his dick even deeper. "This is really good."

"It is, isn't it?" For a few minutes there was nothing but the soft sounds of intimacy: uneven breathing, the susurration of skin against skin, and the occasional approving groan. Then McKay said, "You really could go harder. Or faster. I won't break, I promise."

John didn't stop what he was doing, though, keeping his pace undemanding, his rhythm steady. "Patience, grasshopper," he said, and he was getting kind of a kick out of testing his own resolve, seeing how long he could hold out.

The steady counter-rhythm of McKay's hips stopped, and he said, "You did _not_ just make a _Kung Fu_ reference during sex."

"Hey, I liked that show," John protested.

"Why am I not surprised? And what happened to 'if there's one thing I can do, it's follow orders'?" He punctuated the quoted words with short, firm rocking motions, fucking himself on John's dick.

Okay, so maybe self-control was overrated. "I haven't heard any orders."

There was a pause, long enough for John to worry that he'd crossed some line he hadn't even known was there, and then, breathless: "Fuck me, John. Really fuck me. God, I— I want to still be able to feel it tomorrow." The words were earnest, as honest and real as he'd ever heard from McKay, and they left John feeling shattered.

"Yeah," he said, tightening his grip on McKay's hips and thrusting harder. "Oh, yeah. Can you come again this soon? Because it would be so hot to have you come while I'm inside you." McKay's only answer was to move his hand to his dick, and John watched the play of muscles in McKay's shoulder as he worked at jerking himself off. "Next time," John continued, breath coming in harsh pants now, "next time, I want you to fuck me."

He felt the stuttering clench around his dick a second before McKay's whole body tensed, a second before he realized that McKay was coming, shuddering as John fucked him through his orgasm. John's balls tightened at the mere _thought_ of it, and he was coming, too, riding out the wave of sensation, his dick buried deep inside McKay.

As the last of the feeling pulsed through him, leaving him trembling, John curled over McKay's broad back, letting him take the weight that John's body couldn't seem to support. McKay stretched out under him, lowering them down until they were flat on the bed, John's dick sliding out, as limp and wrung out as the rest of him. John shifted far enough to the side to take the majority of his weight off McKay, curling against him instead, sweaty and sticky and feeling thoroughly debauched.

"Mission accomplished," John announced, surprised to find that he felt relieved.

"God," McKay mumbled into the pillow. "If only our off-world missions went as well." He turned his head, blinking at John with a relaxed, sated expression, and John felt a wave of affection wash over him. "Next time, huh?" McKay said.


End file.
